


Recon Ocimiento

by nishizono



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They own a flat in Seville. They don't spend as much time there as they'd like, but they make up for it when they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recon Ocimiento

They own a flat in Seville.

It's in the heart of the city, near the _Puente de Triana_ , and they leave the windows open in the summer because the apartment is too old to have an air conditioner. There's a ceiling fan in the bedroom, though, and a desk fan on the dresser, and that's enough to keep them comfortable except on the hottest of nights.

They don't spend nearly as much time there as they'd like.

They make up for it when they can. They disappear off the radar and hole up together for awhile, leaving their work phones and passports stashed in lock boxes under the floorboards. They buy fruit and olives from the market, and spend as much time as they can sprawled naked on the couch. They breathe, and sleep, and fuck, and in the mornings, they share coffee.

It's just past two in the morning when Arthur stirs, conscious of Eames's lips against his neck. It's muggy in their bedroom, the air so thick it's like breathing water, but Arthur can hear the laughter of party-goers below the window, undeterred by the heat. He stretches with a groan and pushes the hair back from his forehead, then lets out a wordless murmur when Eames's hand slides over his hip.

"Awake?" asks Eames, his voice thick with sleep.

"Mm," replies Arthur. "I think so."

Eames nuzzles the back of his neck, then blows on his skin to cool it. He kneads at Arthur's hip with his fingers, squeezing like he's re-memorizing the curves of Arthur's bones. Eames has always been this way, even during rushed blow jobs in warehouse bathrooms; he's tactile, and thoughtful, and thorough, and Arthur wouldn't be surprised if everyone Eames has ever fucked really believes they're the love of his life.

Arthur knows where he stands. He knows what he means to Eames.

The sex is better when they're here, with weeks stretched out ahead of them. Eames can take his time when they're at home; he can skate his fingertips over Arthur's skin and draw it out until he's shaking.

"I dreamt that I was fingering you," mumbles Eames, putting his hand on Arthur's ass. He drags his thumbnail over Arthur's skin, then pulls lightly to spread him open.

Arthur was half-hard when Eames woke him up, and now his cock swells up against his belly. He shifts lazily in the sheets, pulling a leg up and bending his knee to give Eames more room between his thighs. He's still wet from the night before, their first fuck on the living room floor, and the slower one in their bed. Eames's thumb catches on the rim of his hole, pulls him open just a little and then slowly pushes in. Arthur makes a quiet sound, something like a moan, and opens up for more.

"You're so _incredibly_ sexy," whispers Eames, slowly fucking his thumb into Arthur's ass. "You've got no idea what you do to me, pet, even when you're not around. Especially when you're not around."

"I missed you too," says Arthur.

Eames chuckles and kisses his shoulder, then nudges his forefinger against Arthur's hole. He does it slowly, like an exploration, even though there's not a single place on Arthur's body that Eames hasn't touched at least once. Eames has been inside him, has _been_ him in their dreams. He's breathed Arthur's breath and bled Arthur's blood. They don't have any secrets.

Eames doesn't need to find Arthur's prostate to have him arching his back in pleasure. Just the sensation of being filled, of having Eames's fingers in his body and Eames's mouth against his skin, is enough. The air is heavy in his lungs, and sweat is beading on his stomach, and every time Eames pushes into him, it's like an explosion of heat burning through his veins.

"Eames," says Arthur, gasping, twisting his fingers in the sheets and bearing down on Eames's hand.

"Shhh," whispers Eames, pushing in and holding. He sprinkles kisses along Arthur's shoulders and slips his free arm under Arthur's neck. It's too hot for them to be pressed together this way; the heat of Eames's body is nearly suffocating.

Arthur lets out a breath and relaxes into the mattress. His cock is dripping all over the sheets and pulsing in time with his heartbeat, but he lets Eames bring him down, closes his eyes and concentrates on the rasp of Eames's stubble against his neck.

"Good," breathes Eames, licking at his earlobe. "You're feel so incredible, darling. I could spend the night inside you."

And he will, Arthur thinks distantly; he'll keep his fingers in Arthur's ass, fuck him with his cock, or his tongue, or all three, and Arthur will fall asleep with him inside, and it won't matter because they've got nowhere to be.

Someone downstairs laughs, and Arthur thinks he can hear music from the bar down the block. Eames is breathing against his neck and whispering nonsense things that Arthur can't hear. The fan is creaking overhead, and Arthur's fingers twitch in the sheets.

It's perfect. It's good. They've got time.


End file.
